Healing Divides through the Arts

"Dear Barry. Don't sit down and consider what you want to write. Open up your iPad, take a deep breath, and create a post about exactly what you want to talk about in the moment."

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I'm glad I'm giving myself permission to write freely, openly, and without prompt. I've been spending a great deal of time since Tuesday feeling the pull of generalized and social media telling me how to feel. When I angrily turn off the television or slam my computer shut, I sit in my own mind and begin doing the same. "Barry! It's time to move on. You need to find some way to focus and accept what has happened." It feels nice that by writing this I can remind myself through my work that it is alright to choose my own path through any experience.

Not all, but a great majority of us United States artists experienced a devastating loss early Wednesday morning when Donald Trump was named President-Elect of our great country. Aside from the explosive release of the most stressful, negative campaign on record, people of all minorities sunk deeply into their seats imagining how their rights, safety, and livelihood would be affected by this news. I wasn't sleeping at home that night, instead on my friend's couch on the 19th floor of an apartment overlooking a frighteningly silent New York City. I felt alone and dazed until I finally fell asleep. But not before only one tear dropped down my cheek onto my pillow.

I woke up the next morning equally dazed. I couldn't turn on my regular morning talk show, The Today Show. I couldn't watch anything where I had to see people happy or faking their disposition for a television audience. I almost couldn't bring myself to pack my clothes and get changed to stop and take class at Steps on Broadway before I headed back to Philadelphia. But I somehow found myself standing at the front of the studio, barre in hand and taking the deepest breath as I began moving my body to the sullen melody our pianist played expressing himself in the best way he knew. Like the moments before a drug kicks in, you are already committed to the ride. Just you don't know exactly how profound or regret-filled this experience may get.

With such intense emotions clearly at the throats of this room of 40 or so dancers, we all began to do the one thing we knew. We began to look into ourselves. We began to look at ourselves. And we began to work on the only thing that was truly in our control. Ourselves. And slowly, but surely, teary eyes and broken hearts turned into smiles, hard work, and determination. At this point, I knew everything was going to get better.

We dancers are the lucky ones. We truly are. On even the darkest days, we have something to turn to, something to distract us, something to improve our very being. And even better than the fact that art heals, it makes us more compassionate people. People who understand the way the world works a little better, who can look at someone unlike us and see that they deserve no more than we do, and who aren't afraid to express the best and worst parts of being human. When tragedy strikes, we share our voices silently and express physical grief to heal others. When seething differences become apparent, we explore how to look at this person with compassion and understanding.

There is so much that art offers during trying times. And I fear that we may need art more than ever over the next few years as our leader's core-values seem to be heading in the direction of reinstating old, regressive, and potentially hateful ideals within our progressive nation. So, as we continue on this journey of life in and out of the dance world, I urge anybody who reads this to go out and work on improving yourself first. Then, once you feel that the time is right, find ways to use your art to help society cope, understand, and move forward with the challenges that our great nation will face as it tries to find a middle ground among a divided nation.

MRI Talk - What Is It Like to Have an MRI?

Maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't. I haven't been sharing much about my performance experiences this season. The reason for this is because I have barely performed since the 2013-2014 dance season. I spent the end of this past summer and all of fall in Anchorage directing Alaska Dance Theatre. Upon returning, I coached a few of my students successfully through the Youth America Grand Prix semi-finals in Philadelphia, taught a handful of master classes, started sending out my choreography in search of commissions, and am working on another choreography project that I soon hope to share with you all. A lot is still going on in my freelance career, but my 2014 - 2015 season has been more about growing outside of my performance career and healing my body.

Coaching one of my students for Youth America Grand Prix at the Alvin Ailey studios

I've had injuries before, just like every professional dancer I know. But my most recent injury has been much different than any I've had in the past. While the initial injury was extremely painful and immobilizing, unlike other injuries, I have never had such an odd recovery period. In the past, I have seen marked improvement with rest, physical therapy, and time. But this time around, my gains have been marred by multiple steps back in pain and inflammation.

With my current injury, I seemed to be on the right track to recovery with physical therapy and my continuing obsession with maintaining my core strength. But when I came home from Alaska and had difficulty finding practitioners that would accept my Alaskan insurance, I was forced to continue treatment on my own. I kept up my exercises and saw a chiropractor regularly, but my pain was continuing to come back. And it was coming back stronger than it was before.

This graffiti I found in Philly perfectly represents how I felt

What I found particularly odd was that I still had my full mobility and range of movement in my body. I was taking ballet class, struggling through the first few combinations until I was warm. Then once I got warm, I could do most anything without pain, except lift my leg behind me. By the time class was over, I would feel good for about 20 minutes before my back would start to seize up. It got to the point where I couldn't sit for more than five minutes.

What confused me even more about this injury was that I couldn't figure out how to take care of it. I had been dancing in pain for some time, so I took a week off. When I took that week off, the pain got worse. So, I assumed that keeping blood flowing through those achey muscles must have benefitted them. I finally decided to take an entire month off in the middle of February and was lucky to finally find a practitioner that would treat me with my insurance.

After months of pain, struggle, and frustration, I was finally able to get a much overdue MRI yesterday. Having this type of imaging of my injury would finally give me a clue as to what has been happening in my body since October. As I prepared my MRI-seasoned self, I had to remind myself what I was getting into before I went through with the process.

Anybody that has had an MRI could quite easily scare you to death by explaining the procedure. Most people wince at the prospect of being shoved into a coffin-like tube of cacophony. But if you understand what you are getting yourself into and mentally prepare accordingly, you will have no problem acing this scan in a shavasana-like state.

Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine, or MRI

What exactly is an MRI? MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Essentially, this style of imaging, or looking inside your body noninvasively, is like a much, much more detailed X-ray (without radiation) for whichever part of the body needs to be studied. According to the Mayo Clinic website, an "MRI is a technique that uses a magnetic field and radio waves to create detailed images of the organs and tissues in the body." While I could go into more detail about what exactly happens to make an MRI scan work, I'd prefer to move on to the experience of getting an MRI.

Before I left home for my appointment yesterday, I left all of my jewelry at home and took out my earring. Since magnets are used for these scans, you can't have any loose metal on your body. I don't know exactly what would happen, but I imagine some Matrix-like shit going down where you are lifted off the table from your ear. All kidding aside, you seriously can't have any metal on your body. There are questionnaires about pace-makers and signs about watches being destroyed. So, make sure that you leave most of your valuables at home before you head to the facility to be seen and speak up if you have any metal objects inside your body.

After arriving you will answer questionnaires about general health and metal objects in your body (shrapnel, pace-maker, etc.). Then you will be moved into a changing room to put on a gown or pair of paper shorts, which depends on the part of your body you are having scanned (I only had to put on paper shorts and got to keep my underwear, socks, and shirt on). Once you've changed and locked your belongings in a locker, you will be brought into the MRI room.

There is no specific protocol for being prepped to get your scan done, but I will give you a general idea of what happens. You will be asked a few questions that you have probably already answered, like, "Are you wearing a watch?" Then, you will be given ear plugs to put in your ears, which you will want to make sure are secure before you are put into the machine. Sometimes, facilities will have headphones with music. Once you are prepped, you will be asked to lay down on what looks like a table without legs. When they ask you if you would like a blanket, say yes. Take the blanket whether you want it or not. It gets quite cold and lonely in there.

Is it an MRI machine?

Once placed on the table, you will be scrolled into a very tight, cannoli-like tube. If you have severe anxiety issues relating to small spaces, be sure to ask your doctor before your appointment about possible medication (usually valium) to calm your nerves for the procedure. One of the last things you will be told by the technicians before you can't see more than the creme-colored ceiling of the machine will be, "Stay as still as possible." Any movement by the patient can distort the imaging process. If you move too much, it will only extend the amount of time you are stuck in the tube. Usually (but not always), you will be given a panic button in one of your hands to squeeze if you start to feel overly claustrophobic or present symptoms of a panic attack. Relax! You won't need to use this. I suggest keeping your eyes closed as the technicians put you into the machine and just keep them closed until they move you out of the machine.

If it seems that this procedure is already stressful enough, you are given those earplugs early on for a major reason. Very few things in life, besides concerts and airplanes, can mimic the sound of an MRI machine doing it's job. According to the California Institute of Technology, an MRI is so noisy "because its magnetic field is created by running electrical current through a coiled wire—an electromagnet. When the current is switched on, there is an outward force all along the coil. And because the magnetic field is so strong, the force on the coil is very large." Essentially, you are in a small space with an overzealous magnetic tap dancer practicing like there is no tomorrow on the tube you have found yourself in. While many people find this noise unpleasant, I close my eyes and choreograph movement to the techno sound of the electromagnetic noises passing over (and through) my body. If you focus on something other than what is really happening, the time passes much more quickly and you will be out of the machine before you know it. 

If you are able to stay still and manage your fears and phobias, most MRI's don't really last too long. And, honestly, they really aren't that bad. The worst thing that could happen is that they have to pull you out. You are not stuck inside the machine. Once you are finished, you are brought out of the tube and can go about your day as if nothing unusual happened to you. You will either be given a CD or physical scans of the part of your body that was being reviewed. Be sure to bring these with you to your next doctor appointment.

An MRI scan (not my own)

As for me, I was lucky enough to get my scans looked at only 24 hours (this morning) after I had them taken. Since this injury has been so odd and lengthy, I went into my appointment prepared for some pretty bad news. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the doctor tell me that I will recover and be out of pain again. Honestly, I had convinced myself that I would be given the career-ending injury conversation. While I still need more rest, therapy, and work to recover, I should be able to dance again and live my life without any pain (beyond normal dancer aches). While I may not be able to perform for the rest of this season, I will dance again. Perhaps, the best news I've heard in a long time! So, for the time being, I look forward to continuing to push my choreography, pass on my craft, and share my stories.

Can't wait to move like this again (Photo: J.J. Tiziou)

How to Survive Burn-Out

Every dancer has heard of it. Every dancer fears it. But few dancers actually have the tools to understand what it truly means to be burnt out. I've spent so many years of my life diving passionately into this career; perfecting my technique daily, reading and educating myself through dance periodicals, watching Youtube videos, and much more. I love dance more than most dancers that I know. For this very reason, how could it be possible that I ever would experience burnout within my passion. Well, it happened. And I am recovering from it. How did I get burnt out? What did I do to identify it? And what am I doing to make sure that my career as a dancer doesn't escape me?

It took me a long time to realize that I was burnt out. This wasn't a slow realization that occurred over time. It was more of a BAM! in your face type of moment. As many of my readers know, I was selected to choreograph for the National Choreographers Initiative this past July. After suffering an injury dancing in Oakland back in May, I took some time off to allow my body to recover. What I didn't realize was that my mind needed more recovery than my body did. I took an entire month off before starting to get back in shape. By the time that I had arrived at NCI, I was about 70% where I would hope to be if I was prepping for a performance. Since I was choreographing, I didn't need to be in performance shape. I figured that I would show up nearly there and spend the weeks that I was creating my piece working towards 100%. On the third day of company class, I noticed that my back wasn't quite as recovered as I had hoped it would be after taking the time off that I did. But instead of panicking like I may have in the past, I calmed myself with the knowledge that my choreography wouldn't be affected by my ability to physically perform. Keeping that in mind, I choreographed on

Leading my dancers in rehearsal at NCI

my dancers for the remainder of the day while in a bit of pain. I also noticed that I was starting to feel that something had changed mentally for me.

At the end of this gratifying workday, I called my partner as usual. But what came out of my mouth in our conversation was quite unusual. While I have had greatly gratifying experiences in my freelancing work over the past season, I realized that I hadn't enjoyed much of the time I had spent working in the studio or finding work in over a year, aside from performing onstage. Taking class and rehearsing without the pressure of surviving until the performance was a great relief. I spent that day conducting my dancers in joyful bliss. Feeling this way in the studio was something I hadn't experienced in over a year. How was this possible? I am in love with dance! But it was true. I instantaneously recognized that I was suffering from burnout.

You can see the emotional exhaustion - flying home from Oakland

The question at this point was, "What caused my burnout?" The roots of my affliction stemmed from one nasty seed. Fear. I spent my entire 2013 - 2014 season dancing in fear. The first day of my gig with Barak Ballet, my rental car broke down on PCH in rush hour traffic. I did a gig in West Virginia where I was told that I was going to stay with a host family, only to be left in a motel down the street from a handful of strip clubs (somebody even knocked on my door the first night). In San Francisco, I learned 2 ballets in a short period of time, only to find myself fighting to protect my body when being rushed through the rehearsal process. At yet another job, I learned an entire three act ballet in five 3-hour days to perform the role the following week. To cap out an exhausting season, I found myself living like a homeless person in Oakland and San Francisco, all while rehearsing in dangerous conditions. There was more, but I will leave it at that. Fear drove me deeply into burnout. Fear for my safety. Fear for my physical health. And fear that I was going to burn a bridge in many situations that unionized company dancers would likely walk out on. But one of the worst fears of all that kept me driving forth throughout this year of burnout was the fear that I couldn't pay my bills.

In my opinion, the main reason that dancers burnout is because they are forced to push forward when they are clearly afraid, tired, hurting, or more. If you are enjoying yourself and feeling rewarded by dance, it is almost impossible to burnout. But if you are pushing yourself to continue dancing because of pressure to perform, parents, promotion, pay, or pain, you are likely on the easy road to burning out. This past year while experiencing one of my most successful years working as a freelancer, I recognized something was wrong early on. Reading my blog back in October, it was clear that I was already pushing my limits with stress in my career. I hadn't spent more than 5 weeks at home in over 2 years. I missed financial stability. And I was exhausted by the constant need to stand up to employers and explain that, while I was hired short-term and there was no investment in me long-term, they needed to respect the limitations of the human body (proper rehearsal procedures, appropriate rehearsal time, etc). But back in October, it was the beginning of a new season and finding a full-time company position, at that time, was an impossibility. Beyond that, teaching jobs were mostly filled and I was limited in my options to find work. For these reasons, I continued to press forth and fight a battle not for my career, but survival.

Now that I recognized the reasons for my burnout, it was time for me to take action. Experiencing the trauma of overexerting and over-stressing your mind and body often woos you to play games with yourself. I was often depressed and considered ending my dance career altogether. I, even, found myself playing this dangerous game where I would ask myself, "Would I be upset if I just broke my ankle right now," or "What would I do if I never took a dance class again?" Once you start going down this road, it can be a slippery slope. My first task was to stop playing these games with myself. I also had to recognize that the pain from my injury, and a subsequent follow-up injury from compensating for my back, wasn't helping the situation. I stopped taking class and started taking care of myself.

My view while working to reclaim my Sunday guilt-free

Another major part of my burnout was the fact that I was working night and day. Class in the morning, gym afterwards, come home and look for work, update my website, teach class, come home and blog, look for more work, and worry about how this will all implode if I get hurt. This was a standard day for me. I, often, wouldn't even take a day off from this schedule unless I was working at a gig. I needed to stop looking for work and to let my information sit still for awhile. Beyond that, I needed to find ways to relax and smell the roses. For nearly 3 years, I couldn't just sit around all day on a Sunday watching TV, going for a walk, or sleeping in without feeling overwhelming, gut-punching guilt. I needed to take a break from the life that I had created to survive as a freelance dance artist.

I guess the big question here is, where am I today? I'm getting better. My body is feeling better. My mind is getting better. And I still love dance. I have been really lucky that an amazing job offer came my way right as I realized that I was burnt out. What I have found is that the best way to work through burnout is to lighten the load of that item that is burning you out. So many young dancers have felt the pain of burnout and fell completely out of a potentially beautiful career in dance. I feel that it is important to keep working on what you love while burnt out, just at a different capacity. I am currently working towards getting back in shape. Just at a much slower pace than I would typically do. I am focusing on keeping my body healthy, instead of beating it back into shape. I have also been lucky to have a renewed focus on dance through my choreography. Also, I am allowing myself to take more than a day off in between taking class if I feel it is necessary. If you keep your burnt out activity far enough away to allow for recovery, but close enough to allow that recovery to involve the work that has burnt you out, I truly believe that you will not become so overwhelmed that you push that activity out of your life permanently. I am also working with a new dance organization and exploring a new side of my dance career that is more stable and could lead to an eventually permanent transition after I am done with my dance career. I find that working on something that is gratifying, while working on something that is challenging helps to lessen the burden of this dangerous state.

At this point, I can't come out and say that I have survived burnout. But I can share my process and offer advice that has helped me throughout this process. While my current job doesn't have me dancing full-time, I am still keeping professional dance performance in my path. But instead of focusing on getting back onstage in an unhealthy way, I am focusing on healing my physical health and approaching the next stage of my performance career from a place of positive mental health. When I am back on top, in regards to my physical and emotional health, I am lucky to be in a place where I can continue to work in whatever capacity that I wish. Once again, I find myself hopeful to continue enjoying a professional performance career beyond the 12 years that I have already attained. But for now, I step back into my healing and continue to defend myself from that career-threatening injury called burnout.

Sitting on Flattop Mountain this weekend overlooking Anchorage, AK

Dancing in Fear

As dancers, we tend to live in fear of many things. The physical pain that we experience and the brevity of our careers often cause great stress and anxiety in the mind's eye of most dancers. In recognition of my 11 years as a professional; dancing through fear, happiness, injury, passion, and much more, I offer you 11 fears that I have coped with over those years. Sometimes, we feel like we are the only individual experiencing some of the most stressful moments. I strongly believe in sharing experiences to help others feel that they are not alone in this career's most stressful moments.

Me and James Moore performing Romeo et Juliette (Photo: Angela Sterling)

1. Let's get this one out of the way first. Injury. Most dancers biggest fear is that they will get hurt. This is a factor that every dancer has to contend with at some point in their dancing. Whether minor or major, injury is inevitable. The most stressful part of this job having a high potential for injury is timing. Timing is so important in a dance career. Timing of an audition. Timing of a performance. Timing of paying your bills. The closer one gets to these perfectly timed moments, the harder this anxiety can be to contain. I remember being cast to dance Mercutio in Jean Christophe Maillot's Romeo et Juliette. My fear of injury prior to my big debut became so great that I would knock on wood constantly throughout the day. Anytime I had a bad thought or a moment of fear, I would knock on the dance floor, or a ballet barre, or a lighting boom. I must have knocked on wood hundreds of times over those weeks leading up to that show. I knew that knocking on wood wasn't going to change what was going to happen, but it at least helped me cope with this great amount of fear.

2.  One of the best parts about being a dancer is the way that our art sculpts and forms our bodies. The general population is obsessed with the ballet body and people are not shy about openly discussing it with dancers. For me, I can't deny that I enjoy the attention that I get for the physique that ballet training has given me. But with that said, one of my biggest fears is that I will gain weight and the form that I have created over years and years of meticulous sculpting will crumble. I never really had this fear earlier in my career, as my body was different then. But as a freelancer, I am not always taking class daily and rehearsing for 6 hours afterwards. While I am still in the shape I have maintained over the years, it has become increasingly difficult to keep things going when I am in between gigs. This may be a shallow fear, but it is one nonetheless.

3. When I am stressed about something, I have nightmares. I call them drama dreams. One of these recurring dreams is that I have to perform a ballet that was never taught to me. Somehow, I find myself standing onstage waiting for my entrance and was never given any information about the performance that I am about to do. This dream comes from the feeling that I haven't been properly prepared for a performance. In the land of dance art, where funding is low and expectations are high, there isn't always enough time to rehearse a piece until you feel appropriately prepared to perform for hundreds or thousands of people. Nonetheless, it is all too common for dancers to step onstage with a dark, cloudy question-mark about the outcome of their performance. This lack of preparation creates a great amount of fear and stress that it will negatively affect one's performance.

4. This is trivial and silly, but it is a legitimate worry of mine. As dancers, we are often overtly exposing our bodies. Whether wearing tights, or shorts, or even just a dance belt, our art often exposes the body for the public to view and enjoy. While dancers are often viewed as superhuman, we are, in the end, only human. And as humans, we have human functioning. Sometimes, prior to a performance, you aren't feeling that well. But the show must go on. Perhaps, you ate something for lunch that didn't agree with you. One of the most embarrassing things that could happen onstage might just occur before you get onstage. Think along the lines of your digestive system being off and you have to immediately put on a pair of white tights. Or say, a lady is having her time of the month and putting on a white leotard. Ummm....yeah. Enough said!

This was me selling out...

5. One of the main reasons that I decided to leave Pacific Northwest Ballet was because I was afraid that I was selling out as an artist. Often, dancers will take a job that they wouldn't ideally be a part of, but they need a paycheck. At other times, dancers will perform in work that they don't really agree with just to get press. In my final year at PNB, I felt that I was holding on to my contract only because of the great benefits that were offered to me through my union agreement. Looking back, I know now that this wasn't fully, or even half, true. But I was so scared of being untrue to myself as an artist, that it became a driving factor in me leaving the company. In that case, fear won.

6. One fear that I have had to live with is that I will finish my dance career with unfinished business. It is way too often that dancer's careers end early or in a way that the dancer doesn't have a say. Or even, perhaps, they didn't achieve what they thought they could as they entered their career. Nonetheless, I experience great unease about feeling incomplete when I decide to end the performance side of my career. I have seen too many directors and teachers trying to live out their dance careers through their company members and students. I want to leave performing feeling content.

7. The dance community is so extremely connected by people, but so greatly disconnected in practice. One company's culture is going to be completely different than another. Being a freelancer, it can be difficult to remain fluid throughout every gig and within each process. I have stepped out of cultural expectation (sometimes knowingly, other times unknowingly) within a company or two and, sometimes, that leaves people confused, edgy, and/or angry. While my actions may not have been within a company's cultural understanding, I fear that I may burn a bridge that was built over territory with no agreement. Misunderstandings that are purely professional can easily become personal and hurt a person's ability to work within tightly knit social communities of the dance world.

8. I am afraid of being stuck in the warmup class of an old school Russian-style teacher on a performance day. Enough said!

9. One major stress of mine is picking up choreography. Some days I can pick up faster than anybody else in the room. But other days, I swear you could teach the same choreography and I may have trouble latching on. There is nothing more stressful and frightening than being taught a shit ton of choreography and watching everybody else catch on while you struggle your way through the material.

Rehearsing wildly fast & intricate choreography w/ Elizel Long - Choreo: Seiwert (Photo: Gutierrez Phography)

10. It is often taught that you must always continue growing your technique or you are doing poorly. If you are maintaining a certain level of technique, but not improving in any area, you are actually getting worse. I think this is due to the shortness of our careers. But I live in constant fear that I am not getting better, and this was taught. And while we do want to improve, sometimes it is more important to maintain for a period of time than to grow too fast and peak too soon.

11. My biggest fear in my career is the same fear that most people live with at some point in their lives. After putting so much time into my career and giving everything I have had to make it happen, I fear that it will all be in vain. I don't need to be a star. I don't need to win awards. But I do want to feel like I made a mark, an impression, and moved people with my art. People always say, "Dance as if nobody is watching," or, "Dance for yourself." I never agreed with those statements. I dance because somebody is watching. I dance because it makes me feel good to let others enjoy watching me dance. And if I were to only dance while nobody is watching, I feel my career would have no point. I want to leave this career knowing that I gave something valuable to my art.

What fears have you experienced throughout your career?

The main pitfall of a freelance dancer

As Life of a Freelance Dancer nears a pivotal marker since its' creation nearly 17 months ago, I feel it is finally time to approach a very important topic. It took me a long time to feel that I could appropriately address this item, as I felt I hadn't had enough experience in the field. For many professionals who have found themselves freelancing after having some length of a career dancing with a company, there is one thought that haunts most of them day in and day out. While work can be quite slow or unfulfilling if one takes a job because they haven't any, being without exciting prospects may make one feel like they are burgeoning on the end of their career. In my time as an advocate for freelancing, I have been told by at least a dozen seasoned professionals that they think their career is driving off into the sunset. So many freelance dancers are burdened by the feeling that the end of their career is happening right now. But, is this statement true?

The first thing that comes to mind when discussing this topic is the innate fear among dancers of the imminent end of their dancing and the lifestyle that comes along with it. The fear of having your dance career stolen from you before you are ready to bury it is ingrained in every dancer from a very young age. Dancers are told to train properly in order to prevent career threatening injuries, even though they don't know if they are even receiving proper training. At some point during every dancer's education/career, somebody in class sustains a traumatic injury. Horrified energy fills the room as that unfortunate dancer usually lays on the floor clutching their injured part. In that dancer's moment of need and privacy, nearly the whole studio surrounds and suffocates that person staring on in horror. Hopefully, they truly do feel bad for the person that is injured. But the truth really is that every dancer in that room knows that it could have been them and wonders if that injury is the big one. The one that ends their career.

I was quite surprised that once I entered the professional workforce, most of the non-dancers I met were only interested in talking about my diet, the probability of getting injured, and how long my career would last. News stories constantly come out stating that ballet dancers are more likely to become injured at work than football players, making us the most injury-prone profession. One of the most common questions I get asked is, "Well, what are you going to do after you're done dancing?" Dancers have to cope with their own fears about their career ending, while the world is constantly reminding them of that possibility. All of this fascination with the idea of recreating oneself between their 20's and 40's can make it impossible to focus on the fact that you are dancing right now. It is difficult being a dancer. Dancers live with a lot of fear. At one point, we will all lose what we have worked a lifetime to gain. And everybody knows it.

This is where freelancing can magnify this truth. All company dancers measure their lifespan by season, kind of like a school year. I am currently in my 11th season as a pro. At Pacific Northwest Ballet, our season consisted of 6 different sets of programming, which didn't include Nutcracker or any touring. Most seasons consisted of 40 weeks of work and anywhere from 80 - 120 performances. Currently, my upcoming season is up in the air. I have worked for 2 weeks already and have set up about 8 weeks of work through December. Freelancing work doesn't always line up beyond a month or two in advance. My current line-up consists of performing in the Barak Ballet launch in Santa Monica in October and a handful of Nutcracker performances that I will mention when contracts have been signed. After the holiday season is over, I have no idea what I will be doing. It may be a lot. It may be nothing. If it is nothing, aside from being a financially challenging winter, it could be an emotionally stressful time as well.

Performing in Ballet Nova's Nutcracker (Photo: Ruth Judson)

The reason that I can foresee a time without work being stressful is because I have experienced it this summer. Aside from 5 weeks during my last season, I spent nearly 7 months traveling between the months of November and May. When I had completed my last job, I knew that I wanted to spend a majority of my summer at home in Philly. I didn't really look for a great deal of dance work aside from my weekly work search and a few auditions (plus there is quite the lull in possible jobs since most people would rather be outside in the sun than inside a dark theatre). Then, we added the stress of a move that we had not prepared for, threw a few events, and I tried to stay in shape while giving myself a physical and mental break at the same time. Aside from the 2-week gig in August, I have not performed for an audience since May. This is quite possibly the longest period of time that I have gone without seeing a stage since I was a student. Now that I have had enough time to rest and reset, I am ready to start rehearsing tomorrow. Unfortunately, I don't have that option. It is quite apparent to me that this is why, lately, I have been struggling with the feeling that my career is ending. What did I do with my summer and, until October, what do I have to look forward to?

Living in this mindset is anything but healthy and I know for a fact that so many freelancers exist in this state constantly. A dancer without a company can't gauge that their career will last, at least, as long as their current contract, barring any devastating injury. A freelancer's career isn't continuing until they have solidified that next job. If it is a slow period, one may not be able to see far enough ahead to realize that their career isn't ending. There is also the fear that if money runs out and a dancer needs to take a normal person job, they may be overwhelmed with the workload and their dancing will suffer? The reality of a professional-level freelance artist is that if you are maintaining a certain level professionally and can maintain your health, you ultimately get to choose when your career is over. You choose when to stop staying in-shape, looking for work, and taking work. It is true that you may not get respectable work opportunities or options that compel you to sign a contract. But only when you stop dancing and seek a new path has your career truly ended.

Just writing this down in a public forum doesn't necessarily help settle the emotional stress that is caused by this additional career fear. But there isn't much more to the career equation. Dancers must trust that their career isn't over until they choose or a doctor tells them (get a 2nd opinion, or 10) that it is truly over. And even if a dancer does decide to retire, they can always make a comeback a la Celine Dion. But all joking aside, most dancers feel their career is over because they are not pleased with the options presented to them. If you have lost the fight to make work happen or to put in the time to make better things happen, then perhaps it is time to hang up your slippers. Being a freelancer requires great dancing, great networking/promotional abilities, and even greater emotional fortitude. Patience and balance are key to this profession. While every freelance dancer will likely feel that their career is coming to an end at some point, those who continue to work through this stress and remain patient can have lengthy and sustained professional careers.

Relax! The sun isn't setting on your career.